


Nobody Else (But Me)

by milou407



Category: Genghis Khan - Miike Snow (Music Video), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Fluff and Humor, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Inspired by that one Miike Snow music video, Kidnapping, Lasers, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Possessive Mycroft, Sally Donovan & Greg Lestrade Friendship, Secret Agent Greg Lestrade, Supervillain Mycroft Holmes, Troublemaker Sherlock Holmes, kind of, little teeny bit of angst, secret agent john watson, very brief - Freeform, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milou407/pseuds/milou407
Summary: Greg's been having a terrible evening, and it's only going to get worse. Not only was the whole department teasing him for his crush on his long-time rival, The Iceman, but now he's been kidnapped and held in a secret bunker by said rival. And there's a giant laser pointed right at him.Shit.
Relationships: Greg Lestrade & John Watson, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan & Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75





	Nobody Else (But Me)

**Author's Note:**

> If you've never watched the music video for ['Genghis Khan'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_SlAzsXa7E) by Miike Snow, I heavily recommend you do so, although it will contain slight spoilers for the story! I love this video with all my heart and soul and was entirely the inspiration for this fic.

“You won’t get away with this!”

Greg’s having a terrible afternoon and he’s incredibly disappointed in himself. It’s bad enough that he’s letting the bad guy get away with the intel he needed, now he’s spouting lines like some terrible spy cliché instead of a real secret agent.

“My dear Inspector, I think you’ll find I already have.” With that, the Iceman saunters over to a waiting helicopter and climbs aboard. Even coughing and sputtering from the cloud of dust that the helicopter kicks up Greg can see the smarmy smirk the man is wearing and he hates it. He glares through the grit in his eyes until the chopper disappears into the distance.

“Goddammit,” Greg mutters, struggling against the zip ties that bind his wrists to the arms of the chair. Usually they don’t take too long to break out of, but that bastard _always_ makes him work for it –

The zip ties break with twin snaps, leaving Greg free but with reddened wrists. Greg rubs the marks and scowls as he searches around for something he can use to – oh, there it is.

“Absolute arsehole, leaving me here with no ride home.” Greg grumbles as he collects his gun and communicator which had gotten tossed around during the scuffle before he’d been (very unfairly) drugged and tied to a chair. “Why can’t I ever get called out to abandoned warehouses near tube stations? Or at least a taxi stand.” He fiddles with his communicator and fits the battery back into the correct position. He’s not the best with technology, but he does at least know how to take out and replace a fucking battery, no matter what Donovan says.

It crackles to life when he holds down the transmission button and he barks, “Sally?”

“Inspector? It’s good to hear your voice, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I just got a little _tied up_ dealing with the Iceman.” He grins at the exasperated sigh he can hear over the communicator’s static.

“You’re not funny, sir.”

“Bite your tongue. What’s the chance of you getting me a ride out of here any time soon?”

“Already on it. We’ve got the Captain heading your way, he should be there in twenty.”

“Thanks, Donovan. I’ll come check in when I get back. Want me to bring you a coffee?”

“God, please. I haven’t been able to leave my desk since you lost contact.”

“Alright, Inspector out.”

He clicks off the communicator and sighs, surveying the area that’s going to be his home for the next twenty minutes. Probably closer to ten, the way John drives. Might as well have a little fun with it.

\----

About twelve minutes later an older, silver BMW pulls up and rolls down a window. John leans his arm on the window ledge and squints up at Greg, disappointed.

“You’re a goddamn spy, what are you doing up a fucking tree?”

“Waiting for you, you git.” Greg drops out of the tree and winces at the shock to his knees. “Would you rather I sit in the middle of the lot with a target on my back? Do you know how much the bounty on my head is right now?”

“Yeah, but that’s just in Russia. They still haven’t forgotten about the porcupine and herbal tea debacle.”

“You shut your mouth, Watson.” Greg slams the door behind him. “How did you get stuck babysitting anyway?”

John’s hand tightens on the wheel as he turns out onto the alley behind the warehouse. “I’m still in the doghouse with the Major after the Eye incident.”

Greg winces and says, “He can’t still be on that, can he? That was almost three months ago. And it’s not your fault he got away, the man’s some kind of lunatic.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“I mean, the Eye? _Really?_ Of all the places to stage your heist, the most public, touristy place – “

“Shut up, Greg.”

“But it’s so interesting, because he’s not acting like a normal mastermind, is he, John?”

“Greg, I swear –“

“And he didn’t even keep the gemstones! He left the jewels, John. Why would he leave the jewels?”

“You’re not allowed to mock me with the things I say when I’m drunk.”

  
“ _Au contraire, mon capitan_.” Greg leans back in his seat and props his boots up on the dashboard. “That’s my entire raison d’être.”

“I cannot express how much I regret letting you get Duolingo. And get your fucking boots off my dash. You’re not an animal.”

  
Greg growls at him but removes his feet. “That’s what you think, Watson.”

“Save it for your Ice Prince, Lestrade.”

Instead of responding, Greg reaches to turn up the radio, to drown out John’s laughter and to cover his own blush.

\----

_Transcript of conversation 035602, voice recording will be kept for six months before being destroyed._

“Anthea, update me on the situation, please.”

“Yes, sir. All of the files have been released to the appropriate journalists and authorities, and the surveillance bugs placed in the files have been activated.”

“Good. And the Inspector?”

“Picked up by a colleague after escaping his bonds and fixing his communication device. It took less than half an hour.”

“Mm.”

“If I may say, sir, you may wish to instruct your suppliers to increase the tensile strength in your restraints. It didn’t take him very long to break out at all, and he may appreciate more of a challenge.”

“Thank you, Anthea. I’ll be sure to take that under consideration.”

“As you wish, sir.”

_End transcript_

  
\----

“So, not only did you fail to apprehend the Iceman, one of the most notorious master criminals of our time –“

“Well, actually – “

The Major holds up a hand and Greg falls silent. As much as he might like to argue, staying silent is the best option for keeping his job and also his balls attached to his body.

“Not only did he get away, but he got away with the files you were _specifically_ sent to retrieve. You failed your mission, you gave valuable information away to the enemy, and you were unable to capture one of our most notorious adversaries. Does that cover everything?”

  
“Uh. Yes? But we actually got notice a few minutes ago that the files were sent to the same journalists we were going to send them to, exposing the same war criminal we were targeting. So, in the end…”

Greg trails off as the Major stares at him, giving Greg serious flashbacks to the look his mother used to give him when he broke curfew and came home drunk.

“Inspector,” the Major closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Just…go.”

“Yes, sir.” He wastes no time booking it out of the Major’s office and down to the support floor. He catches John’s eye where he’s sitting with Stamford, going over what looks to be the Eye footage for the hundredth time. He shakes his head at John who shoots him a rude gesture in return.

“Inspector.” Donovan doesn’t acknowledge him when he approaches her desk and collapses into the chair next to her. He places the takeaway cup of coffee on her desk and she shoots him an exasperated look before taking it.

“Donovan, got anything for me? The helicopter, maybe we can get a serial number or something?”

She gives him a withering look. “This isn’t some Law and Order shit, sir. I’m working with some crap security cameras and no matter what they tell you, zoom and enhance isn’t a thing outside of television.” She turns back to her computer and clicks through grainy footage showing Greg, a few hours ago, creeping through the warehouse where their contact had requested they meet.

He squints at the footage. “Is that really what I look like from behind?” Sally just ignores him again.

“Here’s where I’m getting concerned.” Sally rewinds the footage to hours before Greg ever arrived. “Do you see this?”

“…An empty warehouse?”

“Yes! This is where the files were located. They were in position a full six hours before you got there. There was no movement for the entire six hours, no one went in or out of the warehouse.”

“So, the contact got taken out before everything started? Or there was never a contact and it was a trap.”

“Right. But if we go back twelve hours –“ Sally rewinds the tape even further. “There!”

Greg gets even closer and squints at the screen again. “Is that a person dressed in a bespoke suit carrying our files through an abandoned warehouse?”

“Yep.” Sally looks incredibly smug as she sips her coffee. “And which criminal mastermind with a crush on you employs people dressed exclusively in Savile Row?”

“I – he – he doesn’t have a crush on me!” Greg sputters and swats at Sally as she laughs at him unashamedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned that he’s targeting me specifically?”

Sally shrugs. “He hasn’t killed you yet, I figure you’re pretty safe. Plus, you keep letting him get away, so Mike and I are convinced you’ve got some secret affair going on and you just haven’t let us in on the secret yet.”

“Listen, just because I’ve not dated in a while doesn’t mean – “

“After Nick, I’m just glad to see you in a stable, long term commitment.”

“You’re one to talk about shitty relationships, honestly.” Sally glares at him with such heat that he feels like he should be ducking behind a desk for cover. “Sorry, sorry. Got anything else for me?”

“No, but Mike does. He’s going to brief you and John about someone they want you tracking. I think you’re getting suited up all fancy, Philip was grumbling about evening wear and hidden weapons.”

“Alright, thanks, Donovan.” He stands and takes her empty cup before heading to where Mike and John are seated in a small conference room. “Give my love to Anderson.”

It’s thanks to the spy training that he’s able to duck out of the way of the stapler she throws at his head without looking.

As he joins Mike and John in the conference room, Mike clicks on the projector and a beautiful dark-haired woman in a white dress fills the screen.

John whistles. “New target?”

“Irene Adler, also known as The Woman.” Stamford advances the presentation to show many instances of the same woman surrounded by different groups of influential people.

“She’s a notorious blackmailer and has been on our radar for a while, but we haven’t felt the need to bring her in until now.”

Greg frowns. “She’s notorious and we haven’t brought her in yet?”

“Inspector, if we tracked down all the blackmailers we know about, we’d never get anything done.”

“And we’d have to arrest half our sources!” Sally yells from the pen.

“That, too,” Mike agrees. “We were willing to let it slide until we saw this.” He clicks again and the still from some grainy security camera that flashes across the screen makes even John and Greg gasp.

“Is that?”

“Yes.”

“And she’s with –“

“Yep.”

“And they’re – “

“That’s correct.”

“Good lord.”

“I don’t even know where you’d get that much lube.”

John scrubs a hand over his face. “So, we need to have a conversation with Ms. Adler.”

“Correct. Thankfully, another one of her associates is hosting a gala in a few nights, and I got you both invitations.” Mike slides a couple of thin file folders down the table to each of them.

Greg grins as he reads through his cover and looks over at John. “I’m an environmental lawyer saving Amazonian River Dolphins in my spare time. What have you got?”

“Tough loss, Greggers. Award-winning pediatric surgeon who also runs marathons. I take this round.”

“Dammit, Stamford! I swear, you always give him the cooler covers,” Greg whines.

Stamford just shrugs. “Well, he is my favorite, there’s no getting around it. Just be glad I don’t have you assigned as a couple.”

Greg leers at John, who blows him a kiss from across the table.

Stamford sighs. “Just...get out, would you?”

\----

_Transcript of conversation 182938, voice recording will be kept for six months before being destroyed._

  
“Sherlock. What are you doing in my office?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“What can I do for you, then?”

“I need an invitation to an event. A very public event.”

“The Woman?”

“She has some contacts I require and wants to pass them along in a public area. This event is well attended enough to be safe and fatally boring enough that I’m sure you have an invitation.”

“I do have an invitation, but I was already planning on attending the event myself, so unfortunately you will have to find another avenue into the gala.”

“No, I will simply occupy the place of your plus-one.”

“Unacceptable.”

“Why? Surely you aren’t planning on taking a date, Mycroft.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I _do_ know that, since the only man you would consider having accompany you to such an event has an invitation of his own.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, piss off, everyone knows about your crush on the Inspector by this point. Just agree to bring me to the event so we can end this tedious conversation.”

“I will be doing no such thing.”

“Stop being unreasonable! Just pull some of your deeply uninteresting strings and bring me to the event.”

“Fine. I _will_ bring you to the charity gala – “

“Obviously.”

“ _If_ you’ll admit that you so desperately wish to go to the gala because the Captain will also be attending.”

“…”

“…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure. Well then, I believe this conversation is over. Good evening, Sherlock.”

“… _(unintelligible)_ ”

“Pardon?”

“Fine! Yes, the Captain will be there, and yes, I was aware of this. It was possibly a very insignificant factor in my decision to attend.”

“Wonderful. Now, unless you want to discuss coordinating our outfits – “

“Goodbye, Mycroft. This was unbearable, as always.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock.”

_End transcript_

\----

Greg whistles lowly from his vantage point at the bar when The Woman enters the ballroom. “I have eyes on her.”

“Just keep them in your head, and your tongue off the floor.”

“I’m hurt, Donovan, truly. I’m not a dog, and she’s not my type.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we know,” John adds. Greg can see him leaning against the bar from across the room, getting cozy with some starlets, the git. “Your type leans more towards tall, pale, and ginger.”

“Pot, this is kettle. You’re black.” Greg puts down his empty whiskey glass and heads for the dance floor. “Though, yours skews more towards tall, pale, and scowling, rather than gingers.”

“Touché.” Greg can hear the small ‘blip’ that means John has signed off the open channel, just leaving him and Sally.

“Alright Greg, can you do this without tripping over your own feet?”

“Absolutely not. I’m going for ‘lovable buffoon’ though, that seems to work out pretty nicely for events like these.”

“Well, you’re half right, anyway. Fine, but I’ll be watching.”

“Kinky.” Sally makes a rude noise into his ear, leaving Greg grinning as silence falls. Now all he has to do is ask Ms. Adler for a dance, and –

His plans are cut short when his arm is caught unexpectedly, and he’s spun into the (surprisingly firm) embrace of a mystery man who purrs, “Might I have this dance?” Greg looks up to shake off his unexpected admirer but –

Oh. _Fuck._

  
His brain must have officially shut down because he finds himself waltzing in slow circles on complete autopilot with The Fucking Iceman.

Granted, Greg hasn’t seen him up close before, but still. The brown (but with beguiling hints of ginger, slightly curled, makes him want to run his fingers through it) hair, the complete assurance with which he carries himself, those blue, blue eyes. It’s everything Greg has seen across abandoned warehouses and rooftops – and once, memorably, an “e-Sports” arena – and wanted to be closer to, now wrapped up in his arms.

(He might have had a dream like this once, but he never breathed a word of that to anyone, not even Watson.)

John pipes up in his ear, “Shit, Greg, I think I see – “

“Yes,” Greg answers, “You might.”

“Splendid.” The Iceman’s expression shifts into something very near a smile; something about his eyes softens even though his mouth doesn’t twitch. “I was hoping I would get a moment of your time.”

“Well, all you had to do was ask. I’m always open to meeting new people.” He flashes his go-to, get out of trouble grin, but it falters when The Iceman’s face falls.

“Come now, Gregory, you don’t need to play that game with me. I think we both know what’s going on here.”

“Oh, I am absolutely sure we both don’t. I have no idea what we’re doing here, mate, I’m just trying to enjoy the gala.” Greg’s actually having a bit of fun now, trying to see how far he can push him before he snaps.

“Greg, I’m serious, I think you need to leave,” Sally says in his ear. “I just saw Holmes talking to Adler on CCTV, I think they’re working together. This is bigger than we thought, we’re not prepared for this, you need to _go_.”

The Iceman sighs. “Truly, how many times do I have to say it, _Inspector_ ,” a shard of ice slithers down Greg’s spine, and it’s really fucked up because he can’t tell if it’s terror or arousal but that’s a problem for another time, “You don’t need to play that game with me, I know who and _what_ you are, and all I am asking for is a dance.”

  
“ _Holmes_ is here? Shit,” John swears and Greg _really_ doesn’t need this in his ear right now, “Greg, where are you, we should grab Holmes and get out of here. Try and pump him for information.”

  
“Yeah, I don’t really think you’re going to get what you want out of this.” Greg looks over The Iceman’s shoulder to where Irene Adler is standing in a gaggle of people, all of them laughing and fawning over her. “And there’s a woman I’ve made it my mission to meet, so if you’ll excuse me, _Mycroft_.“

Greg can feel The Iceman freeze in his arms, and he uses the split second of confusion to slip out from his hold and head towards the target for the evening, casually scratching an itch and using the movement to take the earpiece out of his ear. Sally’s going to give him hell for it, but he needs to do this without voices in his head.

He’s almost there when a hand pulls him into a curtain-covered alcove just off of the main ballroom, pinning him up against the wall.

  
“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” Greg hisses, shoving at Mycroft from where he’s pressing him to the wall by his shoulders. “Seriously? This doesn’t have anything to do with you, just fuck off and leave me alone!”

“I assure you, Gregory, this has _everything_ to do with me.” Mycroft _fucking_ Holmes sounds surprisingly unruffled, despite how furious his expression is. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you approach her.”

“And why not?” His smart mouth is truly the only thing saving him from whimpering at the full body contact that’s currently taking place, saving his reputation and his dignity.

Both of which are about to be _ruined_ if the noise he makes when Mycroft presses closer and noses along his jawline are ever released to the public. “Because you’re _mine_.”

And in one swift movement, Mycroft shoves a hand in his pocket and _wow_ that could be sexy but instead he pulls out Greg’s earpiece, dropping it to the floor to crush it under his heel. With the other hand, he pulls a syringe out of some magic hidden place in his jacket, sticking it in Greg’s thigh and pushing down the plunger.

“What the _fuck_ – “

“My apologies, Gregory, but needs must.” Greg blinks and the world goes blurry and tips sideways. Actually, that might be him falling to the ground, but he can’t be sure. It’s probably the drugs. He blinks again and he’s being carried into a car and laid out in the backseat, then a third time and he’s being lifted out and strapped to a fucking gurney and wheeled through a _fucking secret mountain bunker are you fucking kidding right now._

He can’t speak because he was just fucking drugged, but he tries his best to communicate the exact level of fucking done he is with this entire situation in a dirty stare in what he thinks is Mycroft’s general direction.

The Iceman-shaped blur clucks at him in a startlingly accurate imitation of Greg’s mum. “Gregory, really. There’s no need for that kind of language.”

Well now he’s blushing _and_ furious. This is incredibly fucking inconvenient.

“The paralytic should be wearing off soon, not to worry. You should have something resembling your normal range of motion in a few minutes. But we’ll have to restrict that.”

Greg’s eyes go wide and he manages a little shimmy of protest before two henchmen lift him off the gurney and onto a metal table. Before he can do more than frown and burble a little, he’s being strapped down in a way that is not at all sexy.

Things are starting to get a bit clearer, and he’s able to flex his fingers where they’re strapped down on the table, stretched out to the sides. He’s able to see the gadgets around the room, the multitude of henchmen – henchpeople, he supposes, to be correct – Mycroft has parading around, and, oh yes, the _giant fucking laser_ that’s currently pointed right at his cock.

Oh, and what’s that Mycroft’s holding? The control switch, obviously.

“C’mon, Mycroft,” Greg slurs, which is still a huge improvement on a few minutes ago, “I thought we had a good thing goin’. What’s this big laser doing here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry my dear, I didn’t realize you weren’t clued in.” Mycroft has his ‘you poor peasant’ face on and if Greg was pissed at how condescending the look is, he’s even more furious at how into it he is. “You see, your organization has some information that I desire. I took you as, shall we say, collateral. To give them a reason to give me what I want.”

“You prick! Are you _shitting_ me?” Greg struggles, but these binds are much tougher than The Iceman’s usually are and there doesn’t seem to be any give. “You’re killing me for _information_? I’m worth at least a small country, you can hold out for more than information.”

“Don’t worry, Gregory, I expect to be getting a missive any minute now agreeing to my terms.” He brandishes the remote with an evil smirk. “But if not, I’m sure we’ll find a way to have some fun.”

  
A striking woman in the tallest heels Greg has ever seen sidles up next to Mycroft and whispers in his ear. She throws an exasperated look at Greg before sauntering away, and he starts wondering nonsensically what he did to piss her off.

“Ah, it seems there’s an urgent matter that requires my immediate attention. Do stay there, won’t you? I’ll be back in just a moment. Or a few hours, depending on how things go.”

“What the _fuck_ Mycroft, you’re leaving me here? I’m strapped to a table, you arsehole, don’t leave me like this!”

“Really, Gregory. Do you have such little faith in your organization? They have four hours to gather the information I require, I expect we’ll be hearing from them well before then. If not, well.” Mycroft winces a little. “I can’t promise it’ll be painless, but it’ll be quick.”

“Oh you – Mycroft, you know I’ll just break out of this, do we really have to go through this charade? After all, who else would you play your little cat and mouse games with?” There, that sounds more like their normal banter. Not like Greg is genuinely terrified for the first time since he’s met this man.

Mycroft doesn’t reply, just smiles that stupid fucking (hot) smirk and leaves the little inset torture chamber with barely a whisper of sound. Greg sighs loudly and looks around at the henchpeople and scientists that surround him.

“I don’t suppose any of you are interested in helping me get out of here?” He’s met with a lot of blank stares and not a single chuckle. “Tough crowd.” He leans his head back against the table and watches the seconds tick by, trying to figure out how he’s going to explain this one to the Major.

\---

_Transcript of conversation 0100729, voice recording will be kept for six months before being destroyed._

“What, _exactly_ , was so important that you had to interrupt me?”

“We’ve received word from Sherlock, sir. He was able to confirm that the official policy of The Bureau is to not give in to ransom demands, which is why we planned for them to retrieve their Inspector themselves, after a slight delay. Your brother has offered to help the Captain and The Bureau recover their lost Inspector.”

“ _Why_ must he insert himself into everything – “

“Because, _sir_ , the tracking device in all Bureau equipment that was supposed to lead them directly here was destroyed before the Inspector was removed from the gala. I’m sure you don’t know anything about that, do you?”

“…”

“It would be _absurd_ , surely, if your master plan was ruined because someone had a temper tantrum. Sir.”

“…”

“I’m sure that a stone-cold mastermind like yourself would never, say, get jealous and spoil months of careful planning.”

“Enough! I will admit, there may have been a…slight lapse in judgement that compromised the integrity of my master plan. However, we have contingency plans in place for this very reason.”

“Which you threw to the wind because when you decided to move the operation up by six weeks. Because you were jealous. Sir.”

“… _Fuck_.”

“Quite, sir. Which is why Sherlock is involved. Well, one reason.”

“You’re not going to tell me he wants to help?”

“The opposite, I would think. If there’s one thing your brother would love to see…”

“A massive failure, I think, would describe it well.”

“Quite, sir. So, unless you want your entire operation to come to a grinding halt much quicker than you’d planned…”

“…I see. Thank you, Anthea. That will be all.”

“…Yes, sir.” (audible footsteps)

“…”

“…”

“ _Fuck_.”

_End transcript_

\---

“Forty-five bottles of beer on the wall, forty-five bottles of beer…you take one down, pass it around, forty-four bottles of beer on the wall…”

Well, he’s certainly not going to win awards for his singing any time soon, but maybe if he sings it long and loud enough, one of Mycroft’s minions will get fed up and let him out. Stranger things have happened, and since these iron bracelets aren’t letting him move even enough to get his lockpicks out of his sleeve, it’s looking like his best option.

“Forty-four bottles of beer on the –“

“Much as I appreciate your dulcet tones, Gregory, I would ask that you stop, solely for the sake of my employees’ sanity.” Mycroft steps out of the shadows like the evil mastermind he is and comes closer to survey Greg, trussed up like a chicken. God, he always looks like porn on legs in those suits and now, in that tux…No! Now is not the time for inappropriate boners! Focus, Greg!

“Oh, you’re back! Cheers, it’s good to see you, I thought you were going to leave me here to rot.”

“No,” Mycroft sighs, “sadly, my attention was called away, but I returned to you as soon as I was able.”

“Aw, you warm my heart, really.”

“I’m sure. I must say, Gregory, I’m surprised you’ve remained in my company this long, normally your organization would be on their way by now. Is something wrong, was this supposed to be a particularly busy night for secret agents everywhere?”

“Oh, they’re on their way. You don’t know everything, Mycroft.” Oh please, please be on your way so we don’t look like complete morons.

“You’re right, it appears I don’t know everything. I was under the assumption your organization was made up of somewhat competent agents.” Mycroft cocks his head. “Apparently I was wrong.”

“Hey, that’s uncalled for! They’re all competent. They just trust that I can get myself out of my own messes, is all.” Which has ended up biting him in the ass a few times, but that’s fine. He’s still usually good at getting himself out of scrapes, even if he needs a bit of help, and as long as all his parts stay attached it’s all the same in the end, right?

“Unfortunately, it appears that the rescue party your organization sent has run into some…difficulties, so I have been forced to take matters into my own hands.” Mycroft brings a hand out from behind his back and fairly caresses the master switch he’s got which really isn’t helping the problem of Greg’s misbehaving cock.

“Oh, no. I don’t think we’re at that level, yet. You don’t like getting your hands dirty, do you, Iceman? Just wait a minute, I’m sure my people are sending word now –“

“I’m afraid not, Gregory.” Mycroft’s lips purse into a frown and he appears to be looking anywhere but at Greg. “I know for a fact that they’re not sending word, because it’s not The Bureau’s policy to agree to ransom demands, isn’t that right?”

Well, yeah, that’s right, but you’re not supposed to know that, you bastard.

“And I know that normally the time allotted for a response to a ransom demand is used to find or neutralize the agent, but in this case, no one knows where you are because in the confusion back at the gala you somehow lost your tracker. In essence, your operatives are stumbling around blind searching for a needle in a field full of haystacks, and they don’t know where to begin”

“…It sounds pretty bad when you say it like that.”

“It does, doesn’t it.” Mycroft looks him in the face for the first time in ages, but he doesn’t look triumphant or proud, he just looks…sad? Disappointed, maybe. “So, the only logical thing for me to do would be to fire this laser and be done with you. Keeping you here only puts me and my operation at risk, so I should get rid of you, to protect myself.”

It might have been stupidly reckless and trusting, but even with all the talk of lasers and being strapped to a table, Greg hadn’t been truly frightened before. Now, though, with that empty look behind Mycroft’s eyes, a chill runs down his spine and he tries with renewed vigor to get out of the cuffs or reach for his set of picks. “Woah, hey, Mycroft, I don’t think – “

“And it would be absurd,” Mycroft talks over him completely, continuing his train of thought without even acknowledging Greg, “to let you go at this point. Not only have you seen my face, you know my name, the location of a sizeable amount of my fortune and manpower, and I’ve threatened your life, all of which endanger my operation and my survival more than is sensible. The only logical thing to do is to press this button and eliminate any threat you might pose. Anything else would be a sign of weakness.” He turns away and Greg gets the opportunity to study that distinctive profile as Mycroft stares intently at the remote that could end Greg’s life at any moment.

There are deserts less dry than Greg’s mouth right now, as he stares at Mycroft’s back and tries desperately to figure out how to get out of this. There has to be a way for Mycroft to let him go or at least let him escape without both of them losing face.

“C’mon, you can’t be serious. Our cat and mouse game isn’t nearly as much fun if the mouse is disintegrated by a laser. Or was I the cat? I could never figure that out.”

Mycroft, amazingly, looks back at him and smiles a little. “I always pictured it as a game of chess, but I do appreciate that your view has a certain…whimsy to it.”

“Right, king of whimsy, that’s me. Mycroft…don’t let it end like this. Please, I know we won’t be able to go back, but we can become something else, can’t we? I’ll…learn how to play chess, or backgammon, _something_.”

“My dear, I think we both know it would be fairly impossible for you to learn a new game now, wouldn’t it? You’re a man of honor, of scruples, and I can’t imagine you sacrificing that just so you could play with me a little longer.” Shit, Mycroft is looking sad again. _Fuck_. “I’m sorry, Gregory.”

“Me too, Mycroft.” That seems to break something in Mycroft, and he turns away once more, gripping the remote with white knuckles. He studies it with a dark expression and takes a steadying breath. Greg squeezes his eyes shut so at least he doesn’t have to look at the giant fucking laser as –

As he hears a series of soft ‘click’s, and feels the bindings holding his wrists and ankles release. He cracks open one eye and doesn’t see anything unusual, so he chances opening the other one, too. Everything is exactly the same as it was before Mycroft pressed the big button of doom, except apparently he _didn’t_ press the doom button and Greg’s restraints now lie open and useless on the table.

  
Greg swings his legs off the table and stands, half crouched and ready for this unprecedented stroke of luck to turn against him. A few of the henchpeople standing in a ring around the inset torture chamber where he was tied down step forward, and Greg flinches before they’re stopped with a single sweeping gesture by Mycroft. He flicks a glance over his shoulder at Greg before dropping his arm and looking determinedly away.

Greg takes the lifeline that’s offered to him and climbs up the nearest stairway to the upper level, keeping a careful eye on the people around him in case they decide to go rogue. He reaches the top of the stairs and starts forward towards the exit he can see clearly, before he stops dead in his tracks.

He turns back once more to see Mycroft, standing alone in the middle of an empty room, looking smaller than Greg’s ever seen him. Every cell in Greg’s body is screaming at him to run, but if he leaves Mycroft like this, he’ll never forgive himself. Greg looks once more towards the exit, chewing on his lip in thought, before doing an about-face and heading back down the stairs.

He crosses to the center of the arena and stands before Mycroft, or his back anyway, and clears his throat. Mycroft’s head jerks up and he turns partially around, looking at Greg with a shocked and disbelieving expression on his face. Greg extends a hand and takes a deep breath.

“It would be awfully rude of me,” Greg says quietly, the hand he extends across the space between them very nearly shaking, “To go before we finished our dance.”

Mycroft stares at him, gaze flicking between the hand offered and Greg’s expression. There’s a dangerously hopeful light in his eyes and though he hesitates before taking Greg’s hand, his grip is sure and strong as he pulls Greg in close. Greg’s a little stunned that it worked, honestly, which is his defense as to why he lets Mycroft take the lead and twirl them in time to the gentle classical music that starts playing over the loudspeaker. He looks over Mycroft’s shoulder around the now suspiciously empty lair and lets himself relax further into Mycroft’s hold.

“Seriously?” he grumbles halfheartedly, “I can’t even lead in my own big, romantic gesture?”

Mycroft chuckles and executes a particularly complex spin that’s really just an excuse to pull Greg even closer. “My dear, it would be easier if you would accept that we’re uniquely suited to each other’s strengths, and that dancing happens to be one of mine, not one of yours.”

Greg bites down on a smile, “I’m pretty sure that was a dig at my dancing, but I’ll allow it.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Thanks for not killing me.”

Mycroft frowns and clutches at Greg a little tighter. “I was never going to kill you. You were meant to have your tracker on you when we took you from the gala, and your team was supposed to find you within a few hours. I’d spend some time with you here, and then when they were on their way I would leave and burn this hideout. I simply underestimated the ineptitude of your organization.”

“Mm. And that wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you stepped on my communicator back at the gala?” Greg squints at him so hard that Mycroft actually looks a little abashed.

“I’m sure I have no idea as to what you’re referring. Regardless, a series of interconnected events has led us here and I truly cannot complain about the results.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Greg stops squinting and presses his face into the crease of Mycroft’s neck. Say what you will about pompous assholes, they know how to choose a good cologne. “So, what now? Because I’ve gotta say, trying to bring you in after this is going to be very awkward. And I don’t think anyone will believe that I talked my way out of your evil clutches.”

Mycroft hums. “Are my ‘clutches’ truly evil?”

Greg just stares at Mycroft, then looks pointedly at the laser, then back to Mycroft. “Mycroft. You spirited me away to your secret super-villain lair, strapped me down to a table, and pointed a giant laser at me. What about that seems not evil to you?”

“Oh, I never claimed to be a hero, Gregory. But I could be convinced to use my considerable influence for the good of your organization, rather than as a wrench in your works. And besides,” His smile turns enigmatic in a way that makes Greg want to jump his bones immediately, “I happen to know that your organization doesn’t have any concrete evidence to convict me of any wrongdoing, as long as a certain agent doesn’t press charges.”

“So, you’re relying on me to keep your arse out of jail?” Listen, Greg’s well aware that he shouldn’t be amused by this, but he’s just going to add it to the list of fucked up things that have happened to him and call it a day.

“I have the utmost faith in you, my dear. I wouldn’t trust my fate to anyone else.” It could be joking, but it’s not. Mycroft is deadly serious in his intent to put his future in Greg’s hands, and it’s a very sobering thought.

“You – you can’t tell me that. You can’t let me be the one to decide – “

“I can, and I _will_. I leave myself at your mercy, Gregory. I would prefer, however, if we left the restraints and threats of bodily harm out of the equation this time.” The sound of helicopter blades grows rapidly louder, and Greg has the sinking feeling that Mycroft’s faith in him is about to be tested.

“Shame, I was looking forward to seeing you in handcuffs.”

“…That could still be arranged.”

\----

Sitting in an incredibly uncomfortable chair in the Major’s office, Greg is reminded of nothing so much as getting caught doing something he shouldn’t in primary school. Granted, his teachers hadn’t had people disappeared on a regular basis, but it’s the same uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He’s sure that if the Major would just say something, he’d feel a lot better, but it’s been ten minutes since he’s told his (carefully edited) version of what took place in Mycroft’s super-secret villain lair and the Major still hasn’t spoken.

  
Greg’s about to just make a break for it and take his chances at a life on the run when the Major says quietly, “Alright.”

“…Alright?”

“I believe you.” The Major settles back into his chair and laces his hands together. “Mostly. And since I’m pretty sure this ends either with the both of you working for me or the two of you on the run, I’d prefer the ending that keeps your boytoy where I can watch him.”

Greg blinks, briefly stunned into silence by the idea of Mycroft being anyone’s ‘boytoy’. “Thank you, sir?”

The Major nods and flicks a wrist in his direction. “Get out of my sight. You’re on leave for a week, starting immediately. And take your boytoy with you, I don’t want to see either of your faces around here until I absolutely have to.”

“Is it my birthday, sir?”

“No. You’re just disgusting together, I don’t want to subject Donovan to either of you until you work this out of your systems.” The Major winces at the mental image and gestures at him again. “Go, before I change my mind.”

“Yes, sir!” Greg hops up out of his chair and out of the office without a second glance. He makes his way downstairs and out the front of the building, winking at John where he stands with Sherlock in the lobby. They’re bickering about something inconsequential and both are wearing huge grins, or at least what passes for a smile for Sherlock. John makes a rude gesture at Greg as he passes, and Sherlock pointedly ignores him. Greg’s actually pretty okay with those reactions.

He slides into the backseat of a car far nicer than any he’s had access to as a secret agent, almost straight into the lap of the dapper man sitting there.

“Well?” Mycroft drawls, looking the picture of nonchalance. The tapping of his fingers on the leather seat as well as the tight lines around his eyes give him away, and Greg feels a soft welling of some four-lettered feeling at the sight of him. “Should I be booking an international flight?”

“Only if there’s a tropical island at the end of it.” At Mycroft’s confused look, Greg laughs. “We’re on vacation. Well, I’m on vacation, you’re on probation, I think. Either way, no one wants to see hide nor hair of us for a week, and I want to get you someplace I don’t have to worry about your brother bursting in on us. Ooh, and where they have those drinks with the tiny umbrellas. I love those.”

  
Mycroft blinks at him in a brief moment of confusion. “That…can be arranged. A vacation, you say?”

“A tropical one. I want to be _spoiled_ , Myc.” Greg leans in to kiss him, tugging at his bottom lip. “Think you’ll melt in the heat, Iceman?”

“I suppose we’ll have to see, won’t we?” The glint in Mycroft’s eyes turns dangerous, and his smile is the kind of wicked and dirty that makes Greg consider testing how soundproof the backseat really is. Mycroft knocks on the partition between the front and back seats, and it lowers briefly. “Heathrow, please. We’ll be chartering the jet.” The partition rolls back up without comment, and Mycroft gives Greg a considering look before asking, “How’s your Spanish?”

“Needs a bit of work, but I trust that you’ll be able to fill in my gaps.” He grins innocently when Mycroft tuts at him, but he can tell by the way Mycroft’s ears go pink that he’s pleased. He waits until Mycroft starts tapping at his phone, arranging their travel plans before lacing their fingers and saying fervently, “ _God_ , I love you.”

Mycroft looks up at him with an expression so endearingly shocked that Greg’s heart almost gives out. He squeezes Greg’s fingers and then brings their joined hands up to his mouth to kiss them, and Greg almost erupts in a font of tender emotion. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“Hopefully not for a long time yet, _mon cher_.” Greg grins rakishly, solely for the way it makes Mycroft briefly clench his fingers.

Regaining his composure, Mycroft sniffs derisively. “Mm, French. How…pedantic.”

Greg lets out a bark of laughter before saying, “Shut the fuck up, you poncy bastard,” and tugging Mycroft into his lap.

Somewhere in between gentle kisses Mycroft murmurs a response to his earlier declaration against his lips, and Greg feels something inside of him unclench. He relaxes and lets Mycroft’s comments on the advantages of different tiny, secluded tropical islands wash over him, humming whenever it seems like his input might be necessary. Mostly, he watches Mycroft handle things and feels a warm fondness for this man he’s found, this adventure he gets to keep with him until the end.

  
Cause he’s not gonna let this one go for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to electric_typewriter for being the absolute best beta anyone could hope for! Please please leave a comment if you've enjoyed, they always make my day <3


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